Second Chance
by Roaddog 469
Summary: My take on the few hours before Abberline's death...few spoilers for From Hell you've been warned. Kinda sappy, but hey it's late. I think I have cussing in here but i'm not sure. Enjoy and please RR!


Second Chance Helen Acosta Helen Acosta 2 576 2001-11-11T06:57:00Z 2001-11-11T06:57:00Z 6 3270 14388 Victoria College 252 85 22890 9.2720 0 0 

Inspector Frederick Abberline wasn't quite sure why he kept coming back here. Whitechapel was far from safe and the Ten Bells was far from a quiet place to have a drink. Although drinking in a noisy tavern did help to keep his mind occupied. Helped to keep his thoughts clear of the dragon. He had not chased the dragon, since the night of Mary Kelly's murder, but it was getting harder and harder to stay clean.

Mary hadn't actually been murdered, but since he couldn't go to her, it was easier on him to imagine her as dead. The last victim of Jack the Ripper, not counting himself of course. It had been two days since Frederick had burned the letter that Mary had left for him, although her words would be emblazoned forever in his heart. He took a long drag off of his cigarette and finished his pint. 

As he stood the young boy that cleared the tables descended, eager for a tip. Grinning slightly, Abberline tossed a few coins on the table and watched as the young boy's face lit up. Abberline continued to the bar to pay his tab. As he laid his money on the bar, Mac, the bartender, pointed out a woman sitting at the end of the bar. "What of her?" Abberline asked pointedly, he was tired and in no mood to entertain Mac.  

"She's been watching you. All night in fact, and when she saw you stand up, she finished her pint and paid her tab."

"Well, thank you, Mac for that brief glimpse into her life," he said as he turned. "Kunt," he mumbled to himself as he headed for the door. The night was cold and it felt like rain. Pulling his overcoat tight around his slender body, Abberline started back to his home.

Business in Whitechapel had picked back up since the last murder and he carefully avoided looking directly at any of the many sexual acts being preformed around him. "Monsieur," came the light voice from behind him. Ignoring, Abberline pressed on. "Monsieur," she said again, slightly closer and somewhat more insistent. He stopped and turned to face her. The woman from the bar. Pale skin, brown eyes. Blond hair, spirally curled, loose down to her shoulders. She wore a dark blue dress, off the shoulder and low-cut enough to reveal ample cleavage. The skirt reached her knees and met her black lace-up boots. Abberline sighed. Not the woman from the bar…the unfortunate from the bar. Bloody hell. With Mary gone and all her friends dead, he didn't know how word of his kindness to Mary Kelly had gotten around, but it had, and now all the women in Whitechapel expected they could solicit the same treatment. "Miss," he said, taking great care to sound soft.

"I must speak with you, Monsieur," she said, her thick French accent cutting the air.

"Miss, I'm sure you are having a hard time of it, and I understand how hard it is to survive on these streets. So what I propose is this…"

"Monsieur," she began, shaking her head.

Abberline, reaching into his pocket, didn't see her protest. "Take this," he said, producing what money he had left and dropping it into her palm.

"But monsieur, I don't think-"

"It isn't much, I know, but it will buy you some food and a warm place to sleep for the night. Please take it," he said turning from her.

"Inspector Frederick Abberline," she called after him. The mention of his name stopped him cold. At most an unfortunate would know his rank, but his first and last name. He turned to face her. "I'm not what you think I am, Monsieur Abberline. My name is Bernadette Riennes; I have come from Paris where I am a student of art. I am not an unfortunate, monsieur."

"I-I do apologize, Miss Riennes," Abberline stuttered.

She waved a hand at him. "No need to apologize, monsieur. Given my dress and my surroundings. I would be surprised if you didn't think so, and to be honest you are not the first to make the assumption tonight. You have, however, been the most polite about it. And here is your money back," she said smiling, stretching her hand out to him. "Although I appreciate the gesture."

He opened his palm and she dropped the coins back into his hand. As he replaced them in his pocket, "You were following me, though, Miss Riennes."

"Oui, I was. I have a proposition for you, Inspector. It may seem strange at first, but I only wish for you to hear me out, before you dismiss me, agreed?"

Abberline didn't know what she was talking about, but he wished she would get to the point. The sky over them had begun to rumble with the promise of a storm. "Of course," he replied politely.

She inhaled deeply, and Abberline couldn't help notice her heaving bust line. As she exhaled, Abberline met her eyes once more. "Inspector Abberline, I have been contacted by the spirit of Mary Kelly and she asked me to find you."

He nodded, his eyes wide. Not only was it impossible because no one could speak to spirits, but Mary wasn't even dead. _And she looked so normal_, Abberline thought to himself, _She must be tossed,_ he thought to himself. "Of course, mademoiselle. But it is very late and I'm sure you'd be better able to explain this in the morning after you've rested."

"Don't patronize me, Inspector."

"Of course, not. But the streets of Whitechapel are no place for an attractive young woman to be wandering alone. So if I could just escort you back to your room," he said gently as he reached for her elbow.

"Please, don't touch me, monsieur," she said, quickly, pulling back. 

"I apologize, but please at least let me hail you a cab."

"I asked you not to patronize me, Inspector. Do you honestly believe that I would travel all of this way if I didn't have good reason?"

"I'm sure you had good reason."

"But you think I'm crazy?"

"Of course not."

"Do not treat me as a child, monsieur. If you do not believe me then tell me," she shouted, becoming impatient.

"I don't have time for this, Miss Riennes. I appreciate the gesture, but…"

"You don't believe me?" she asked, exasperated. "Do you believe you are the only one in the world with gifts?"

He raised an eyebrow at that. How did she know about his intuitions? Could she be telling the truth? She couldn't be, Mary was alive. This girl couldn't have been in contact with her spirit. In any case, at this point he really didn't want her help. If she could see things, as he did, he couldn't risk her looking into Mary's whereabouts. For Mary's sake and for the sake of Baby Alice, he couldn't risk it. "It's not that I don't believe you, Miss Riennes. I'm just not interested," with that he turned from her and began to walk away.

"You're not interested?!?" she shouted as she ran in front of him, blocking his path. "This has nothing to do with your interests. She contacted me, which means she is interested. All you have to do is listen to her."

"She could not have contacted you," Abberline said as he sidestepped her.

"And why is that?" she said, without thinking, she grabbed his arm. The electric shock was obvious even to Abberline who pulled his arm from her.

Bernadette froze as images raced through her mind. A woman with long dark hair. Blood. A dead baby. Opium, Laudanum. Haze. Continuous haze. Then a scream echoed through her head. A body _Polly_ a voice spoke. _Come on let us see the body! Dark Annie_ _Chapman…_another body, entrails around her neck. _I never did understand that custom._ _Liz Stride_. Another body, missing a nose. Another, _Kate Eddowes_head nearly severed, _So Abberline, now you got 'im doing two a night. W_riting on a wall_._ Grapes _Why does he give them grapes?_ Blood. More blood, splattered on a picture frame. _I think you mean to draw a listin knife. _On a table. Next to a bed. A bed with…what was at one time a body. A pentacle star. _The Star of David has six points._ Hair on a pillow. _Notice something, Inspector? _Auburn hair. _Not Mary's. Not Mary's! It isn't her!_ A letter, _Anxiously awaiting you, Mary. _It wasn't her hair. _Not dead. She's not dead!_

"Ahhh!" Bernadette screamed, as her strength left her, she crumbled to her knees, massaging her temples. Abberline dropped to his knees beside her and reached out to touch her. "No," she cried out, pulling away from him. "Don't touch me, please," she cried.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he looked at the top of her head. 

She raised her eyes just then, meeting his stare. She sniffled, "She isn't dead. And you knew it."

Enraged beyond all concern for the young girl's sanity, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into a nearby alley. He pushed her up against the wall, his face inches from hers. "How do you know?" he demanded.

"Ahh!" she screamed, trying to squirm out of his grip, then she stopped, and when she looked up, her eyes lit by the streetlamps, were no longer brown, but blue. The color of Mary's. Shocked he released her shoulders, and she smiled slightly before the brown of her eyes began to return. She blinked several times and the blue was completely gone. 

"How do you-" Abberline demanded making a move to grab her again

"No," she screamed, "please. I'm—I'm going to pass out," she slurred, before her knees gave way. Pinning her to the wall with his body, Abberline held her up until he managed to get her arm around his neck and he drug her back to his flat. 

He was standing beside her when she started to come around, a million questions buzzing in his mind. But the most prominent…if Mary was alive how had she contacted this girl?

Bernadette's eyes began to flutter. _What happened? _Damn, it was hard to clear her thoughts, almost as if someone else was using her mind. She finally got her eyes to open, and her vision looked different. Fuzzy. Strange, she thought. She blinked several times, trying to clear her vision. Finally her vision cleared along with her thinking, and the events of the evening began to return to her. 

Abberline. She had found him and told him about Mary. Her flashbacks of his thoughts flooded back, and chilled her. Mary, Mary who wasn't dead. That's what it was. She remembered losing control of herself for a second, as if she was out of her body. Then she had passed out. And now here she was. Although she wasn't quite sure where here was exactly. She looked around, not recognizing her surroundings, until Abberline stepped from the shadows.

"Inspector," she whispered hoarsely. "Where am I?"

"My flat. I have a few questions for you, Miss."

She nodded weakly as she sat up. "I'm sure you do, Monsieur."

He sat down in front of her, his face inches from hers. Puzzled, and unsure where to begin, he shook his head, before managing a stuttered, "How?"

She held up her hand. "Let me start from the beginning. When I turned fifteen I began hearing voices. Voices that no one else heard. It wasn't much until later that I realized I was hearing the voices of the dead. 

"About three weeks ago, I was contacted by the spirit of a young woman. She told me that she had left unfinished business in England and she asked if I could help. I agreed and she asked me to come and find you. So here I am."

"But how are you communicating with her if…if she isn't dead," his voice cracked as he said the latter, realizing that he hadn't said it aloud to anyone but Sgt. Godley. 

"I'm not entirely sure, Inspector, but the important thing is that I am in contact with her. And she wants to speak with you."

"How did you know that she wasn't dead?"

"I am a medium, but I also have some amount of telepathic ability. However, it only works during physical contact. When I touched you, I saw your thoughts. Your memories."

"And when we were in the alley, your eyes…" he trailed off, knowing what he had seen, but afraid to say it out loud.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Quoi, monsieur? What did you see?"

"Your eyes, for a few seconds…they were Mary's."

Bernadette dropped her eyes, thinking. That would explain it. The feeling of no control over her own body. The change in her vision when she awoke. It hadn't been her, it had been Mary Kelly. "The only thing that I can think of, monsieur, is that her spirit has been out looking for someone to bring her back to you."

Abberline narrowed his eyes. "People do that very often?"

"To some extent, yes. To extract themselves from their everyday lives. I imagine that prostituting is unpleasant enough an experience that Mary probably sent her mind elsewhere to forget what she was doing. And once a person becomes proficient enough at it, they can perform the feat at will." Abberline shook his head, doubtful. "I would think that you of all people could understand that, monsieur. You lost at least two years of your life in a cloud of opium trying and forget your wife and child." He met her stare, knowing that he could not argue with that. "Monsieur Abberline," she began again, "however it is happening, I feel the need to tell you that I have never seen this type of devotion in anyone, dead or alive. And if she is this anxious to see you, I think that you owe it to her and to yourself to indulge."

"What exactly are you suggesting, Miss Riennes?"

"What I am suggesting, monsieur, is that I channel Mary Kelly into my body and allow her to take me over."

"Accomplishing what, exactly?"

"Only peace of mind for the two of you. I think it could work, monsieur. At any rate, I would like to try."

"I don't know," Abberline said, shaking his head.

"Monsieur," she said placing her hand just above his, not actually touching him, "if it doesn't work, you have lost nothing but a few moments out of your life. But if it does work you can say the goodbye that you never had an opportunity to say. You can't lose, monsieur." 

Abberline looked up at her, his dark eyes examining hers, looking for any sign of a reason not to take her at her word, but he found nothing. Or maybe he just didn't want to find a reason not to trust her. Maybe he did want a chance, however slim, to see Mary again, to speak to her…to touch her. "Agreed, Miss Riennes."

Bernadette exhaled, closing her eyes. "Alright, monsieur. It may help to have something of hers if you have anything." He exhaled as he stood. He made his way to his desk where he kept the framed picture of Mary as a child. He had taken it from the room that the young girl had been killed in. 

Wiping off the glass he handed it to Bernadette, "This is all I have," he said, quietly. 

Bernadette nodded as she took it in her hands. "This should be—" she stopped mid-sentence, her hands shot from her lap, dropping the picture. The glass shattered on the ground as her hands found Abberline's. Looking down at her, he watched as her eyes lightened to Mary's sky-blue. Mouth agape, he stared down at her, as her hair became brighter, the radiant red that Mary's was. From head to toe, she had changed to Mary Kelly. 

Sitting across from her, Abberline put both of his hands up, palms flat, and Mary placed her palms against his. He reached up with one hand, to stroke her hair. He watched as his fingers slipped into the scarlet locks, but all he could feel was small ringlets curling around his slender finger. His brow furrowed, until she spoke, "It's her body, Frederick. You see me, but I'm not here." The voice, void of Bernadette's accent, was Mary's. 

He pulled his hands back, but as the contact between their skins broke the image of Mary faded out, and Abberline could see the face of Bernadette returning. Reaching out again, he gripped her hands and Mary faded back in. Abberline sat in silence for a minute or two, amazed. "Why haven't you come to me?" Mary asked, finally breaking the silence.

"They watched me after you left. They've stopped now, but if they think I know where you are, they will find you. And they will kill you this time."

"I knew that, Frederick," Mary replied, "but why haven't you come to me?" He furrowed his brow, not following her. "The dragon, Frederick. You release from yourself, when you chase the dragon. That is where we can find each other. There we are both safe. Find me there," as she said the last of her sentence, her accent broke and Bernadette's broke in. She was fading out, Bernadette couldn't hold her any longer. 

Abberline knew this could be his last chance. Gently he knelt in front of her, wrapping her arms around her neck. Looking up at her, passion in his eyes, Mary leaned close. Softly, almost chastely, their lips brushed, and the electric current flashed sparks in front of their eyes. Mary's eyes widened, and Abberline could see her slipping back to whatever place she had come from. 

Unwilling to let her go so easily, he cupped her face in his hands and pulled her lips to his. Softly, yet passionately, they kissed. Living for the instant, knowing that it would be the last. Their tongues explored the somewhat familiar territory of each other's mouth. 

Abberline dropped his hands from her face and placed his hands on her hips, squeezing gently. He sighed as he realized this wouldn't last, and he tried to take in input from all of his senses. Tried to remember everything about her. The feel of her lips against his. Her smell, her face, her taste. Then entirely too soon, she pulled back, and said goodbye in a thick French accent as Mary's face faded from view. 

Slowly, her skin darkened, and her hair reverted to blond. His hands still at her hips, Abberline pulled back, still kneeling in front of Bernadette. She blinked several times, and eventually her eyes reverted to brown. Obviously drained, she gazed down at Abberline, somewhat shakily. "Oui? Did it work?"

"Yes," he replied, standing, smiling as much as he could, though his heart was aching.

"Bon," she said, also standing. "Then, Monsieur this is where we part ways. I have a train to catch in the morning." She turned then and began towards the door.

"I want to thank you, Miss Riennes," he said, absently wiping at the trails of moisture leading down his high cheekbones. 

"S'il vous plait, Monsieur, there is no need to thank me," she said opening the door to the street. "I only hope I was able to help."

"You helped," he said.

"Bon," she said, smiling weakly, "Good night, monsieur Abberline." With that she turned and walked off into the London fog.

Abberline turned back into his house, looked around quickly, then grabbed his coat and headed for the opium den.

He had several brief encounters with Mary that night, but none as intense as the one he had experienced at his flat with Bernadette. Making up his mind, he realized that there was only one way to soothe his pain. 

He reached into his pocket and produced two coins. _For the ferryman,_ he thought to himself. He loaded his pipe with far too much opium, and turned to the fire. Inhaling deeply, he willed the drug into his system, and surrendered to its fatal effects. If he could not have Mary's warm embrace, he would just have to settle for the Dragon's.


End file.
